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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969866">5, 4, 3, 2, 1</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko'>Daryl_Alenko</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All Angst No Fluff, Character Death, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, I cannot stress this enough, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Not Happy, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, VERY Dark Kingpin, You Have Been Warned, bad language, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:46:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY. Period. There is no fluff. No happiness. Love does -not- conquer all this time. You have been warned.</p>
<p>Matt always knew how this would end. There could be no happy ever after from the moment he donned the mask and started to fight back. There -had- to be consequences. Thing is ... he just always assumed -he- would be the one to pay them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>5, 4, 3, 2, 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am in a bad mood, so this. It is not happy. It doesn't have any of my usual love wins out optimism. This is pure, unadulterated pain. You've been warned. So please, don't read and then flame me for how sad it is. </p>
<p>The title is taken from Murder Song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) by AURORA. </p>
<p>Please, heed the warnings. And though it is sad ... I hope you enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Matt is in pain. This is, in no way, a new state of being for him. Not by a long shot. It is, however, the most pain he's ever been in. Including the chemical spill that robbed him of his eyesight. This feels like that moment amplified four fold. He hurts so bad that he can -see- it. His World On Fire is echoing with little splotches of dimpled, riveted red flames that are soul searing the pain is so deep. Each beat of his heart stokes the flames higher and higher, allowing him to 'see' far too much.</p>
<p>His hand, where the well spring of pain originates, is bloodied and battered. His fingers and palm have been melted to the hand of a gun. Burned flesh sizzling and smoking where it has been grafted onto the metal. The 'sight' of it is almost enough to turn his stomach. Almost. In fact, he thinks the only reason he -isn't- retching, is because his stomach is basically an empty vessel at this point. There might not even be any bile to expel. (It might be a sign of shock that the only thing he can think in the midst of the pain, is that Foggy would kill him for being so empty of food that he can't even barf.)</p>
<p>His eyes flicker back to his hand, his throat convulsing several times to keep a plethora of terrible sounds at bay. Beginning with gagging and probably ending with a scream. Such sounds cannot be associated with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, else bad guys stop fearing him. He still has too much work to do, for that to happen. <br/>Starting with getting Fisk. Bastard.</p>
<p>He squints as his World On Fire ramps up as another wave of pain speeds his heart and sends out his particular brand of echolocation. The gun has been melted to a piece of metal that is melded onto a table in front of him. Basically, he's attached to a gun that's attached to a table and he is scared. So. Fucking. Scared. It's not the -pain- that scares him, but the IMPLICATION. He's fused with a gun .. that can only mean someone expects him to use the weapon. </p>
<p>By this point, his breath is coming in quick, unsteady bursts. This also isn't because of the pain. Stick may have been the worst influence to ever enter his life, but the fucker had been good for something. He taught Matt to go beyond the pain and ache, to centre himself in ways that he could power through almost anything. No. What has him so unsteady, is the fact that he can't remember how he got .. wherever he is. He has built his entire Vigilante existence on being able to remember every minute piece of information his targets give him .. so to have a complete blank spot in his memory is too much. It's terrifying. His mind is the one thing he can still count on. Especially now that he and Foggy aren't talking. Since .. since Foggy walked away. He doesn't even have the luxury of being angry at his friend, because he knows that Foggy has every right to stay the fuck away from him. He endangered his best friend without even having the balls to tell him so. </p>
<p>Foggy is too good to be anywhere near this.</p>
<p>"It seems our guest has awoken." Fisk's voice is a booming growl that has been well memorized by the Devil. He had learned every nuance, every change in tone and timbre and he despises everything about that voice just as much as he despises the man himself. Maybe more so, because that voice has a way of molding others to it's will. And that just ain't right. "Forgive the accommodations, Mr. Murdock, but time was very much of the essence, so everything was a little .. rushed. My apologies." The Devil jerks, wincing vaguely in pain when the action pulls at his messed up hand, but telegraphing little else. Mr. Murdock. Fisk called him Murdock .... every worse case scenario is currently pouring through his head in an overwhelming rush of data. What does it mean? How long has he known? Who is in trouble because of him? Why the fuck didn't he listen to Stick and swear off any and all personal connections!? </p>
<p>Karen ...</p>
<p>Claire ... </p>
<p>Father Lanthom ...</p>
<p>Brett ...</p>
<p>Foggy ......</p>
<p>They are the only names he can conjure, but each is a reason to be profoundly terrified. Chaos is come again. He has opened each of these people up to Hell. How is he supposed to make this better? How is he supposed to -save- them when he's stuck here, deformed, helpless ... that last word feels like an injection of poison worming it's way straight for his heart. </p>
<p>"Are you tracking, Mr. Murdock? I know the pain must be great, but I really need you awake for this next part." The moment Fisk stops speaking, Matt finds himself doused with a bucket of almost freezing water, snarling and gasping as the piercing cold flows up his nose and down his chest. Unfortunately, his clothes aren't really  much in the way of protection from anything, so he instantly feels the cold bone deep. He jerks again, hurts his hand again, but this time, it's a good thing. The blaze of pain drowns out the cold enough that he manages to get some semblance of a hold over his senses. Manages to block most of the useless data out, so that he can -focus-. Not that doing so helps much.</p>
<p>He can smell the usual scents of an abandoned warehouse. Remnants of industrial cleaner fighting with the heavy layer of dust that has been disturbed by tonight's events. The decaying smell of old particle wood and concrete chips. Typical of something forgotten that is turning to ruin. </p>
<p>And of course, the coppery tang of blood. It has panted the back of his throat in a mosaic of macabre that he is not likely to escape any time soon. Well, that's not the -only- thing he won't escape. He's not stupid. He has been caught, cataloged ... Fisk KNOWS him. There is zero chance that he's walking away from this. That is a truth he quietly accepted the moment he put the mask on. There was no outcome in which he would get to live a normal, happy, long life. Eventually, a thug would get lucky or a mastermind would figure it all out and his life would be forfeit. He's strangely okay with that. He just hopes that Fisk will be decent enough to keep the mask when he dumps the body. The last thing he wants is for his identity to be splashed across the front page, damning those he cares about by association. This is his burden, not theirs. </p>
<p>"Good. You finally look alert." Fisk's tone is so .. conversational. As if they are good friends discussing any number of mundane things. Matt finds his hand twitching, trying to work through the pain to see if he can change the angle of the gun. But of course he can't. A mastermind like Fisk wasn't about to leave such a possibility open. If this were another reality, an alternate universe where Matt was raised a little different ... he thinks he and Fisk could've been colleagues ..</p>
<p>Oh wait, -there's- the bile. Matt swallows quick and thick, making sure to keep his mouth shut. He will not give Fisk the satisfaction of replying. </p>
<p>"Don't worry, Mr. Murdock. I don't require your participation yet. Now, once our guest of honor arrives .. well, then I'll need you to pay very close attention." He's being baited. Remembers this technique from every bully he's ever faced down in and out of the mask. He wants to laugh, but he's pretty sure that it would come out too hysterical and may never actually end, if he does. "Not to say that you aren't important, Mr. Murdock. In truth, this next guest is only here because of you." </p>
<p>Matt finds himself flinching again, the words running rough shod over him. Whoever this 'guest' is, they will be here, subjected to this .. because of him. The behemoth doesn't know it yet, but he's just won a major victory against the Devil of Hell's Kitchen with those words. Because Matt is already sinking into the darkness of depression, is already giving up, because whoever this prick has picked ... their pain is his doing. </p>
<p>The first clue to the arrival of whoever Fisk has captured as well, is the sound of .. fabric pulling against metal buckles. Feet heavy and stumbling with each step. Long hair brushing shoulders and neck ... strawberry shampoo ... oh god! Matt sucks in a whimpered breath.</p>
<p>"I'm nobody, man. There's no reason for you to want me. I promise. I'm just a no-name lawyer, not on anyone's radar! There has to be a mistake! I'm not -- you." Foggy's high-pitched, argumentative voice goes from pleading to resigned in two seconds flat, and Matt thinks he might be about to have a panic attack.  </p>
<p>Foggy. It had to be Foggy, didn't it?? Because even FISK would somehow know the most important person in his life. Foggy is here, because of him ... </p>
<p>"I should've known this was because of you." Foggy's voice has fallen into a sort of .. emotionless register that tears through Matt with more strength than a bullet. Wounds deeper, too. Leaves him jagged and torn open. Raw.</p>
<p>"F-Foggy." The name trips from his lips, awkward, desperate, and full of so much apology. Not that he expects his best friend to accept it or anything. He doesn't deserve forgiveness after putting Foggy in this position. "I'm sorry." He spits the words out between gritted teeth, eyes squinting beneath his mask as his World On Fire processes the movement of Foggy being forcefully dragged to the table. He's shoved fiercely into a chair that must be bolted to the ground, because it doesn't move when Foggy's bulk collapses into it. Only once he's in front of him, can Matt make sense of the sound of so many buckles.</p>
<p>Fisk has placed Foggy in a straight jacket. What the fuck!? His senses are so overstimulated, that he can make out the disgusted scowl that Foggy is sending in his direction and if his hand wasn't melted to the gun, he'd probably try and crawl under the table. That is not a joke or exaggeration. Having Foggy mad at him has always been the second hardest thing for him to deal with. The first was the death of his Dad, the third his blinding. When Foggy is judging him, angry with him, or worst yet, -disappointed- in him, his whole world warps out of focus and leaves him reeling dangerously. </p>
<p>Honestly, he's not really that surprised that Fisk's thugs managed to capture him. He hasn't exactly been at the top of his game since Foggy walked away. Not that he's blaming him. God, how could he?? He knows he's the one that fucked up. He won't apologize for helping people who need it, but he knows that he should've told his best friend the truth. Should've warned him that danger was looming on the horizon because of their association. </p>
<p>And now, here they are. Matt melted to a gun and Foggy in a straight jacket. The click of metal on metal confuses him, until he realizes that the jacket has been connected to the table. Foggy's not going anywhere.</p>
<p>"Thank you for joining us tonight, Mr. Nelson. I'm sorry if my associates got a little rough, but no one was expecting you to fight back." Matt can feel an insane sense of pride filling him at the news that Foggy had fought his kidnappers. But it's immediately replaced with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Foggy wouldn't -have- to fight back, if not for Matt. "Now that you've arrived, we can finally begin." </p>
<p>Fisk moves somewhere to the side and Matt snarls involuntarily, trying to threaten the man for getting too close to Foggy. It's an instinct grown from his desperation to protect his best friend. The one person who has been by his side, voluntarily, through so much. Sure, they are .. on a break right now, but some part of him refuses to believe that they are through. There's nothing their friendship can't survive. If he ever truly believes otherwise ... he may as well give up.</p>
<p>"Now, Mr. Nelson, I feel the need to apologize again. In truth, I would really rather not do this. You are one of the people struggling to help Hell's Kitchen in your own way, and I can respect that. I love this city, with all that I am, and I only want what's best for it. I don't want to hurt you, but it's become ... necessary." Matt snarls again for lack of words to articulate just how STUPID this all is. Are they -really- supposed to believe that he doesn't enjoy this?</p>
<p>"Imm'a go ahead and call bullshit on that, Fisk. See, if you didn't -want- to do this, then you wouldn't. No one is twisting that massive arm of yours, or forcing you to do this. YOU made a decision to kidnap me, YOU have done .. whatever the hell you've done to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, and YOU are fucking NUTS if you think any of this is a necessity. I got a newsflash for you, man. NONE OF THIS IS LOVE unless you are one JANKED UP, ABUSIVE PSYCHO FREAK!" Each time Foggy's voice grows to emphasize a word, he squirms and jerks in the straight jacket, and Matt once again feels so proud of his friend. Foggy might not be able to parkour up the side of a building, but he fights back in his own way, and Matt has always loved that about him. </p>
<p>"That's where you are -wrong-, Mr. Nelson. The sheer apathy of this city has indeed forced my hand. Vigilante freaks like your friend here have failed and this city is hemorrhaging. If I continue to stand back and watch, I am no better than the villains who are trying to destroy us." </p>
<p>" 'nother newsflash, douche-nozzle, you ARE the villain!" </p>
<p>"No!" Matt sees the telegraphing of the movement moments before one of Fisk's massive paws connects with the side of Foggy's face. The scent of rusted copper is immediate, even more overwhelming than his own blood as Foggy's head snaps to the side and a spray of crimson erupts from his mouth. </p>
<p>"That's enough of your mouth. Open it again, I will take your jaw off." When he sees Foggy getting ready to retort, Matt throws himself forward to draw his attention.</p>
<p>"Foggy! He's -not- lying." Because he had heard the steady metronome of the other man's heartbeat. He would 100% take Foggy's jaw off if he doesn't shut up and Matt knows that he wouldn't be able to handle that. </p>
<p>"You would do well to listen to Murdock. I'm really not lying." Foggy's eyes spark with irrepressible anger, but he just jerks his head in a nod of acceptance, before spitting a wad of phlegmy blood onto the ground beside his chair. "Now. I've got some business to take care of, so we should hurry this along. I'm sure you're both wondering what this is all about. It's simple, really. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen has been interfering with my business and it officially ends now. Every action has a consequence, Mr. Murdock. This is yours." Fisk walks up, behind Foggy, massive hands coming down on his shoulders, holding tight. Foggy tries to shrug the hands off, but he doesn't have the strength to dislodge the larger man. </p>
<p>"If it's my consequence, then why the hell is he here?" Matt grits his teeth, struggling to lean a little more into the table, blood loss and infection finally starting to get to him. All at once, he feels as if a plug has been pulled in his very soul, trying to leech the last of his energy away. </p>
<p>"Because, Mr. Murdock .. sometimes, other people have to pay for our sins. Isn't that what Jesus did?" There's something quietly mocking in the words, and Matt swallows heavily. Sins. Our Sins. Foggy is going to have to pay for his sins ... he swallows a sudden spurt of bile at the back of his throat. "And on that note, I believe it's time I explain this little set-up. You owe me a life, for all the trouble you've given me, Devil. In the Old Testament, God demanded sacrifice to cleanse us of our sins ... it seems ... poetic that the Devil should have to do so as well. Now, I know what you're going to ask. Why should you do anything I say, I'm just going to kill you both anyway. That is correct. Either way, you're both dead. But you get a choice, Mr. Murdock ..."</p>
<p>Suddenly, Foggy is lifted by the nape of the neck as if he weighs as little as a rag-doll, his face forcefully slammed down, onto the table, so that he is pinned in front of Fisk. Foggy yelps in pain and immediately starts to fight against the hold, but it wouldn't take a genius to know that with the straight jacket and Fisk's superior size and strength, he has no chance.</p>
<p>"Nothing will save you from a violent, painful death. Lessons are meant to be -felt-, after all. But you get to choose how your associate will go." Foggy grunts and renews his fighting, struggling against the jacket that is keeping his arms pinned to him in the same way Fisk is keeping him pinned to the table. Unfortunately, the struggle seems to garner the older man's ire, because Foggy cries out in pain when he is punched in the back between his shoulder blades. When the pain sets in, his cry becomes a howl, and Matt is fighting against his own hold again, no matter how much it hurts. "Both of you be quiet, or I will cause him real pain." </p>
<p>"F-Foggy .. stop fighting." He hates himself for uttering those words, for -encouraging- his best friend to just .... give up. But he would rather Foggy calm down than get hurt. The longer they cooperate, the sooner he can get them out of this. He's beat every bad guy he's ever come up against ... there's no way Fisk is going to get the better of him. </p>
<p>"Fuck you." Foggy grinds the words out, but blissfully goes limp, stops fighting. Matt has never hated himself as much as he does right now. </p>
<p>"Such a charming mouth, counselor." Fisk's voice has deepened, the mocking tone so obvious that it could almost be a physical presence all it's own. Matt's eyes snap shut, his body literally -refusing- to 'see' what he knows is coming next. He can still hear it, -smell- it, but he refuses to burn the shadowy image of Foggy being hurt into his mind. He regrets his World On Fire.</p>
<p>The moment Fisk stops speaking, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. His other hand grabs Foggy by the chin. Despite how often it's happened to him, Matt has never quite got used to the sound of flesh being penetrated by a blade. The sound of wet skin separating layer by layer, blood seeping up, out of the veins. When all of that mixes with the sound of Foggy's heart beating wildly with pain, his breath hitching and fanning out desperately, it leaves Matt a quivering mess.</p>
<p>Fisk has carefully, deliberately, and cruelly taken the tip of the knife and cut through the left side of Foggy's mouth, disfiguring him. Matt turns in just enough time to spray a stream of vomit across the floor beside him. The stench of it isn't enough to override the scent of Foggy's blood and sweat, though. </p>
<p>"Now, do I have your attention, gentlemen?" Matt spits a little remnant out before grunting in affirmation, even as Foggy makes a whining sound as well. Fisk carefully drags the knife across the straight jacket and replaces it in his pocket, making sure Foggy doesn't move. "I hope you are both beginning to understand the situation. There is no escape. You are both entirely at my whim. You will do what I ask, or I will make things worse than you can possibly imagine." Fisk's thumb reaches out to smudge a drop of blood on Foggy's chin, and Matt fears he will throw up again. </p>
<p>By some miracle, he keeps it in. </p>
<p>"So. Choices. As I said, neither of you will be leaving here alive. That is a fact. But you have a choice, Murdock. Surely you've noticed the gun you're currently melded to. If you don't want Foggy to suffer, you are going to shoot him." Matt and Foggy both make unnatural noises of protest at that, and though Matt cannot see it ... Fisk smirks. He can preach all he wishes about the good he thinks he's doing, but Foggy had been right. The bastard is enjoying this. "Fine." He slams Foggy's face against the table again, drawing a gut-wrenching scream from him as his cut mouth bleeds, as pain no doubt flares through him. "I'm not ready for you to scream yet.. Did you know that most Male on Male rape has nothing to do with sexual preference? There are many straight men that rape other men, outside of prison. It's about power. If you keep interrupting me, I will cut your pants and underwear off, Mr. Nelson, and prove just how much power I have over you .. by raping you. Over and over. I'll stop before you pass out from the pain, because I want you awake for this. It's not as much of a punishment for the vigilante if you are passed out through it." He jostles Foggy, shaking him threateningly and Foggy immediately tries to curl up as much as the straight jacket will allow, nodding mutely. A silent promise to cooperate. </p>
<p>Matt truly believes he has never hated anyone as much as he does Fisk.</p>
<p>"Now, as I was saying .. you have a choice, Mr. Murdock. Swift death ... unbelievable pain and torture. Which will it be?" Matt can feel hysteria chipping away at the carefully controlled facade he keeps up while in the mask. Is this for real? Is he -actually- supposed to answer this madman!? </p>
<p>"I .. I gotta agree with Fog on this one, Fisk. Fuck you." Fisk makes a large, long sighing sound, his large frame rippling in Matt's World On Fire. </p>
<p>"I expected more from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. I expected integrity ... I expected you to care about your friend." Before Matt can even start thinking of a witty, biting remark, Fisk has withdrawn his knife again. Oh so deliberately, he sets the tip to the back of Foggy's shoulder and begins to slowly bear down. Matt .. he can hear it. ALL of it. </p>
<p>The slow slicing of fabric. Each layer giving way to the sharp edge of the knife. The sound track of the cutting, is the heavy, terrified beat of Foggy's heart ... followed by an ear splitting scream when the knife point reaches skin. And then, it's the same layer by layer slice of flesh, and Foggy screaming louder and louder as Fisk continues to bear down. He doesn't stop until the soft shick of metal meeting bone. By that point, Foggy is a hoarse, sobbing mess. </p>
<p>Fisk doesn't stop once he meets bone. Or, well, he stops bearing down, and instead, slowly begins to twist the knife blade clockwise. So, more tearing and slicing sounds, as well as the sound of the knife tip grinding down, into the bone, creating a dimple as it scrapes. Foggy screams with renewed vigor, Matt grunting in excruciating pain when he makes a last ditch effort to try and pull his hand free of the gun. All it does is make it worse .. sends pain shooting up his arm, causes him to feel dizzy and faint.</p>
<p>"Stop! Stop! Please, just STOP!" The Devil doesn't beg ... but hearing Foggy scream like this .... "Please. Just stop. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it .. stop ..." Fisk grunts with the effort of pulling the knife up and out, expertly dodging a spray of blood so as not to dirty his perfectly white suit. He is even kind enough to take a step back, away from Foggy. Matt hates that he is relating -anything- as kind to this bastard.</p>
<p>"Foggy. Look at me ... please ... I'm so fucking SORRY Fog. I'm so sorry. You were right. God, you were right! This is all my fault ... you were never supposed to get hurt, Foggy. No one was. Only me. Only -ever- me." Matt is babbling. A new state for him, an action he has never really taken before. For as long as he can remember, words were a carefully calculated tool, even before he decided to go to law school. So, to have lost his control on that along with everything else ... he blinks back the sudden onslaught of tears, dropping his head. He may have told Foggy to look at him, but he really doesn't want him to anymore.</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, you're a fucking idiot if you thought no one would ever get hurt by your decisions, Matty. Seeing you half dead -HURT-. Hearing you call out over and over -HURT-. And now .. now this ..." Foggys' words are slurred, smudged and molded by the pain he's feeling from his injury and for the first time since he put the Mask on, Matt thinks he really fucked up. For the first time, he thinks The Devil of Hell's Kitchen might actually be the thing that sends him to Hell. (In a moment of hysteria mixed with the kind of thunderbolt self awareness it can take a lifetime to achieve, he realizes that it was there, in the name, all along. He let them label him Devil, embraced it, and then is surprised that it's lead to this. For a smart man ... he's a complete idiot sometimes.)</p>
<p>"... I'm going to -die- because of you, Matty." Foggy speaks each word slowly, deliberately, ensuring that Matt hears them clearly. And God does he hear them. They drag a choked sob from him, cause him to curl up painfully into as much of a ball as he can with one hand/arm out of commission.</p>
<p>"As entertaining as it is, watching this little ... domestic ... you have a choice to make, Mr. Murdock. Shoot Mr. Nelson, or I continue. Tick. Tock." Matt can't think. It's a high pressure situation, and his usual lightening fast reflexes and sharp mind are useless. He doesn't know how to handle failing himself. </p>
<p>"Fuck you, Fisk! You -can't- ... you -CAN'T- make me choose!" It is, perhaps, not the wisest thing, expecting some sense of fairness in all of this. For a moment, he feels like a child all over again. Feels how it felt to face the injustice of losing his sight, and the complete lack of fairness when he was kneeling by his dead Dad. </p>
<p>"As you wish." Fisk swoops back in immediately, grabbing foggy by the nape of the neck again. This time, however, he firmly settles him in the seat again, moving so that he's standing next to him while still holding him. "Pay close attention, Devil." The word Devil is a deep sneer moments before Fisk lifts one of his large feet .... and brings it down as hard as he can on Foggy's left knee .... four times. </p>
<p>Shattering bone is another sound he's never quite gotten used to. The way it splinters is obvious. Even in movies, they display that. But there's also the pop of the bone, similar to popcorn. Then there's the tightening if ligaments and tendons before they eventually snap like an overdrawn rubber-band. On the first hit, Foggy screams. By the fourth, he's barely making a gurgling sound as the first stages of shock take hold.</p>
<p>"Tick. Tock." Matt has sailed right past emotional into a state of near catatonia. What the hell is he supposed to do? If he keeps refusing, Foggy will be hurt over and over again, until he finally dies of shock and agony. Or, -he- can be the one to kill him. For one crazy moment, he wonders if he has gotten this all wrong. He's not going to Hell, he's already there. Some punk had managed to take him out, and that's why he doesn't remember how he got here. He's dead and in Hell where he belongs, and he's going to be faced with his worst fear for the rest of eternity; hurting Foggy. "It's time to make a decision. Next time, I go for an eye."</p>
<p>"Matty!" Foggy whimpers his name and it jump starts his focus. He zeroes in on Foggy like he always does. Takes quick stock of his stats. Heart beat irregular, breathing irregular, the scent of blood and chemosignals. Foggy is not okay. "Matt. Please. You  .. you have to do this. You have to. He's going to kill me piece by piece if you don't." Hell keeps getting worse and worse. Foggy is actually asking him to do this? To kill him?</p>
<p>"Foggy .. I .. I can't. You know I can't. I'm not a killer. You know that!" He -does- know that ... right??</p>
<p>"Damn it, Matty! You OWE me. I'm -here- because of you. I'm bleeding .. b-broken .. b-because of -you-. Please, Matty, do this for me." Each word stabs into him. Pierces his heart, rends his soul. He does owe it to him, doesn't he? Foggy is only hear, bloody and broken, because of -him-. (He's too far gone to acknowledge that this is Fisk's doing, and -only- his doing. Blood loss, infection, and emotional pain are rendering him confused and irrational.)</p>
<p>"..... okay." Fisk chuckles when Matt finally capitulates, even goes so far as to almost fondly stroke the nape of Foggy's neck before he carefully maneuvers the other man close. He turns Foggy's head until his temple is nestled intimately against the muzzle of the mounted gun.</p>
<p>"You are making the right decision, Mr. Murdock." Again, the tone is mocking but it no longer does anything to Matt. He's just made the choice to mercy kill his best friend, the most important person in his life. NOTHING is going to get through to him at the moment. </p>
<p>"It's okay, Matty. It's okay. Just do it ..." Foggy's words are muffled, but that makes no sense. He knows that he is technically hearing them with more clarity than almost anyone else on Earth could, but they are still somehow muffled. Distorted. </p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>He realizes that he's openly sobbing. Can feel his entire body quaking with the force of his wailing tears. </p>
<p>"F-Foggy ..." He manages to sob the nickname moments before he does it. Before he pulls the trigger.</p>
<p>The scent of oil, gunpowder, blood, and sweat are an amalgamation of overstimulation that he cannot escape from. He hears the moment the firing pin goes, feels the impact of the bone vibrating against the bone of Foggy's skull before it rips through the soft tissue of brain and exits through bone again. His tongue flashes out, -tastes- the spray of blood, brain matter, and gunpowder in the air. It leaves an oily residue on his taste buds.</p>
<p>The sound of Foggy's body jerking to the side and falling as far as the restraint of the straight jacket will allow, is a hollow sort of ringing that spirals through Matt. It feels as if time somehow suspends as he sits there ... struggling to climb out of the overstimulation. Trying to fight not to let the tastes and smells destroy him.</p>
<p>" -- hands up ---- now ---- hands --- won't ask again!" The sudden intrusion of Brett Mahoney's voice catches Matt off guard. He's being asked to put his hands up. He 'glances' at where his hand is melted to the gun. He could easily say that he can't, offer to put the one hand up, but he doesn't. Because he knows what's going to happen. And he -wants- it to.</p>
<p>" -- He's got a gun!" An officer shouts these words two seconds before five shots ring out. Matt feels the impacts in his shoulder, his side, and one in his face. He has only a moment to thank God it's over before he slides into oblivion. </p>
<p>
  <i>
    <b>Fin</b>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So yeah ... that happened. Hopefully, now, I can return to the fluffier stuff I've been working on. </p>
<p>I know this isn't one of my better written pieces, but I just needed to vent something, and this is what I came up with. Thanks for putting up with it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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